The Weight of Living
by JackieOh
Summary: When Eva and her sister are saved from a horde of walkers and offered a place at the Sanctuary, they're in no place to refuse. Negan may be a volatile man with an ego, but he's got a (skewed) moral compass that lines up just fine with Eva's. Falling into bed with the man is easy' falling in love more complicated. Full summary inside. Negan/OC Negan/Wives OC/Wives.


Author's Note: Hola! I'm a filthy-casual fan of AMC's The Walking Dead with a history of lusting over morally ambiguous characters. Thus, this fic. To clear up any confusion over the pairing(s), I'll lay it out for you. This story will be primarily Negan/OC with minor relationships such as Negan/Wives and the OC/Wives. Basically, I call bullshit on Negan being able to sleep with his hot wives, but his hot wives can't sleep with each other. Any questions, concerns, or compliments should be left in the reviews! Thanks so much for reading and enjoy.

Full Summary: When Eva and her sister are saved from a horde of walkers and offered a place at the Sanctuary, they're in no place to refuse. Negan may be a volatile man with an ego, but he's got a (skewed) moral compass that lines up just fine with Eva's. After proving herself and loyalty, Eva is offered a place among Negan's elite fighters – and Negan's respect. Falling into bed with the man is easy; falling in love more complicated. Negan/OC, Negan/Wives, OC/Wives

* * *

Chapter One: Bad Things

 _Am I out of my head?_

 _Am I out of my mind?_

 _If you only knew the bad things I like_

"I love you."

"Don't do this. Don't you _fucking_ do this, Eva."

Anita looks up at me, green eyes swimming with tears, and my heart breaks. The biters are close now and if she waits any longer we'll _both_ die. That can't happen – won't happen, if I have any say. Which I do. I _am_ the big sister, after all.

"Don't look back, you hear me? Run as far as you can and then some. Eat whatever you can whenever you can. Find a group because there's safety in numbers, but don't risk your neck for anyone." It's not much of a last will and testament, but it'll have to do. I pull the .45 from the stretched waistband of my jeans and hand it off to the last bit of family I have left. "If we meet again before you're old and gray; I'll kill you. Got it, punk?"

I take in her face for the last time – the pointed chin, sharp nose, caramel skin – committing it to memory as she does the same. My sister. My beautiful, sweet baby sister. I'll welcome death with open arms if it means she lives for another day.

Anita sobs, a biter lunges, and I bury my hatchet right between its eyes. "Go!" I scream. "Get outta here!"

I stand between my sister's retreating back and certain death with a smile. _Come and get me, you ugly sons a' bitches. I'm_ _ready_ _.  
_

A small biter dressed in a dirty lace dress and pink ribbons snaps at my leg and I swing for its neck; decapitating it in one blow. Another takes its place; this one bigger, missing an eye and most of its right cheek. Maggots wriggle on its tongue while it reaches out for me with a low moan of hunger. My stomach churns as I pivot and hit the ugly bastard across its face. I kick the corpse into one of its buddies, foot sinking into rotten flesh before detaching with a went _snick_. Gross.

Three come for me in unison and I spin; weapon clipping whatever flesh it can. Limbs fall, blood splatters, and my shoulder _screams_ in agony.

"C'mon," I pant. "C'mon, _c'mon_!" Sweat leaks into my eyes, mixes with tears and falls onto the bloodied ground. "Come get me, fuckers!"

I cut through everything in arms' range with a snarl; sounding just as inhuman as the things I'm killing. It lasts an eternity – hacking, dodging, _killing_ – but I've barely made a dent. There is at least another dozen left, and more emerge from the trees; all hungry for my blood

One grabs for my arm while another goes for my legs, and though I manage to take their heads I'm brought to my knees. Fuck _. Fuck, fuck, fucking-_ _fuck_. Adrenaline has kept me alive this long but now I am feeling the after-effects; shaking, heaving, exhaustion. My legs tremble too much for me to stand and the biters jump on the opportunity without hesitation. I'm buried within seconds; my hatchet lost in the scramble to shake the biters off.

I won't let the fuckers turn me. I'll bash my skull into a bloody pulp before that happens. I'm not coming back as the walking dead – _fuck_ _that_.

I sink my fingers into one of their mouths and _pull_. Its jaw detaches, saving me from a bite that would end my life. I brand the thing like a fucking weapon – using the sharp teeth to cut my way through. Fuck it. If I'm going to die, I'm taking as many of these sorry fucks as I can with me. I'm drenched in blood, sweat, and grime. My skin is shredded by their grabbing hands and the concrete, my clothes torn and tattered. There are four on top of me now, and I've lost the only weapon I didn't send with my sister.

 _Pop! Pop, pop, pop!_

I am both relieved and infuriated when gunshots fill the air. _Anita_ , I think while being showered in brain matter and blood. If we make it out of this alive, I'm going to beat the living _shit_ out of her.

A hand reaches into the pile of living-dead and pulls me out. I wrap my arms around Anita and _gasp_ for breath – spluttering like a drowned man.

"Ain't this a pleasant surprise?" a male voice drawls. "We've got a live one over here!"

I realize with a start that it is not Anita's arms I'm in, but a man's. A very handsome, very intimidating man's.

Fuck. Fuck, fuckity-fucking _fuck_.

A sharp cry draws my attention, and the sight of Anita in another man's hold has me seeing red. I lunge for her, snarling, but am held back by my captor.

"Let her go!" I scream. "I swear to fucking God I will _kill_ you-!"

"Easy there, darlin'. That's no way to talk to the man who just saved your life, is it?"

His voice is deep, guttural-almost, and accented by a southern twang that would be charming in any other situation. I sneer up at him and spit, "Fuck _you_."

To my surprise the man laughs; hard and long, as if I'd told the funniest fucking joke in the world. "Oh darlin'," he grins. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

Blood freezes in my veins as I realize just how thoroughly fucked I am. This man's entourage is twenty strong, and have cut through a horde of biters like a knife would butter. And they have _my sister_.

Demanding will get me nowhere with men like these. I go limp, dropping my head and baring my neck like a good little girl. Fuck my pride – fuck anything that doesn't keep Anita safe. I will get on my goddamn knees if it means she'll live.

"Just let her go," I beg. "Please – just let her go. I'll do anything - _please_."

The man smiles down at me, brilliant and devastating as he lets me fall to the ground. "Now _that's_ the shit I like to hear!" He fixes me with a leer and says, "I'm Negan. And _you_ , darlin', are coming home with me. Load 'em up, boys. Let's give 'em a tour of the New World."

\- x -

In the hour drive it takes to get to what Negan calls the 'Sanctuary', I learn there is nothing the man loves more than the sound of his own goddamn voice. Anita and I sit in the back of a rusted SUV, holding hands and taking in the information Negan throws our way. The horde of biters we'd encountered was spotted by a colony under his 'protection' - which was damn lucky for me, apparently, otherwise my "pretty little ass would be dead as a god-fucking-damn doorknob".

Anita retreats into herself, staring distrusting at the men around us, so it falls to me to get answers.

 _What is the Sanctuary?_

"My very fucking own Utopia, sweetheart. There's people, pussy, and food – none of which in short supply."

 _Who's in charge?_

"You're goddamn lookin' at him. How in the fuckity-fuck you hadn't figured that out, I don't know. Maybe those fuckers scrambled your brains, as I am the motherfucking _embodiment_ of Alpha Male."

 _What will we have to do to stay there?_

"Whatever the fuck you're good at, darlin'. There ain't no free rides. You work or you starve. Or, and this is a once in a motherfucking _lifetime_ opportunity, you could do yourself a fucking favor and become one of my wives. They don't do nothin' but sit on their tight asses and look hot for Daddy."

 _Tempting, but I'll pass._

"You're choice. I don't fuck pussy that ain't willing. I've got goddamn manners, y'know."

The Sanctuary doesn't appear as the name suggests. It must have been a factory in a past life, or a correctional facility. The property is surrounded by barbed-wire fence, and every meter is marked with a chained biter. It wasn't the first time I'd seen them used as a defense, but my stomach rolls with disgust.

We breach the Sanctuary with ease. Negan takes it upon himself to lead us to the infirmary, and Anita clutches to me like a lifeline. For the first time in years we are surrounded by living, breathing _people_. The gray walls are lined with laughing, working, playing people –men, women, young _and_ old. They appear to be well-fed and in good health, but my hackles raise when everyone we pass takes a knee; bowing to Negan as if he was God Himself.

Even still, I don't blame them. I'd been willing to do the same just an hour ago; ready to submit, to humble myself before the man who calls himself a savior so long as it kept my sister safe.

The infirmary is manned by a balding doctor who looks at Negan as if hung the moon. Anita and I are examined by a personable black woman that determines Anita to be in good health (besides the malnourishment and minor abrasions, of course). I, on the other hand, had managed to dislocate my right shoulder which needs to be set immediately lest I risk further damage.

The good doctor motions for Negan and I brace myself, knowing where this is going. Doc isn't strong enough to shove the joint in place, and though the nurse might be she's already tending to other patients.

"Perhaps you'd like a sedative?" Doc offers.

I shake my head, jaw set. "No drugs."

"A belt to bite on, then?"

"Just – do it."

Negan looks to the doctor for confirmation before crowding me. I see Anita tense from the corner of my eye, but I don't comfort her. This is going to hurt like a bitch, I'm probably going to cry, and I just can't deal with this shit right now. I was supposed to _die_ today. I almost did. Maybe a little pain would prove that I _didn't_.

Negan palms my shoulder with nonchalance. The warmth of his hands (big, strong, calloused and capable) sinks into my aching muscles, soothing them some and making my eyelids dip in drowsiness. I find myself leaning into him; a combination of exhaustion and need for human contact after so fucking _long_ without it. We could stay here. We could live in this Sanctuary and be one of the people out in the halls – laughing, full, _happy_. Maybe Negan is a goddamn savior after all.

The fucker doesn't give me a countdown – just pushes until I _pop!_ back into place. Tears spill down my cheeks as I muffle a scream of pain in his leather jacket. Nope – not a fucking savior. Just a prick with an ego and some power. _Asshole_.

"You're one tough fucking cookie, doll." Negan grins and I wipe my face with the sleeve of my stained shirt, panting all the while. "But I've got shit to do and wives to fuck, so I'll be on my merry fucking way."

Anita throws herself at me the moment we are alone; gangly arms wrapping around my middle as I nearly tumble off my cot-turned-hospital-bed. "Take it easy, punk. Don't need you knocking me on my ass, too." Lord knows I've spent enough time laid out for one day.

She releases me but stays close, her face no farther than a foot from mine. "Do you want to stay here?"

"Do you?" It goes unsaid that we may not have a choice. Negan's men took our weapons and the pack holding whatever was left of our meager supplies. We have nothing and nowhere to go. But if I think, even for one second, Anita is in danger here then I will burn this place to the fucking _ground_.

I study my sister's expression; her pinched brow, hopeful eyes, uncertain smile. "We could have a life here," she whispers. "We could be _normal_ again."

I'm reminded then that she was barely sixteen when the disease broke out. Not even finished going through puberty when the world went to shit. But she has a chance now – a chance to grow into the young woman she's become. A chance to be happy. How could I deny her that chance?

"We stick together," I say. "You keep out of trouble. Don't give that fuck _any_ reason to take interest in you."

Anita grins, suddenly teasing. "Seems to have taken some interest in you, _didi_."

"Those are my terms, _little sister_." I cross my arms, ignoring the twinge of pain caused by the movement, and fix her with an expectant stare. Anita just smiles wider, looking more like our mother in her happiness.

A man clears his throat from the doorway and I grab at my waist for a gun that isn't there. He is tall, boyishly handsome, and holding a tray of steaming food. My stomach growls, long and loud, and Anita's does the same. It'd been days since our last meal, and weeks since a warm one.

"Special delivery," says the young man with a sardonic grin.

Anita and I make quick work with the meat and potatoes, the man watching all the while. When our plates are clean and the doctor discharges us officially, the man – who introduces himself as Cato – leads us to our room. On the way, he goes over the way things are done here; explains the point system and how jobs are assigned.

"Everyone is allotted two meals a day, a shower every three days, a toothbrush and bar of soap," Cato says. "Anything extra is bought by points, which are earned depending on hours worked and the importance of your job. Guards make more than farmers, who make more than cooks, who make more than whatever-the-fuck-else. Jobs are assigned by skill and interest, and what the community needs. So, what're you good at?"

"I'm a damn good shot," I say.

Cato laughs, easy and earnest. "Wouldn't have survived this long if you weren't good at killing. But newbies aren't given weapons until they prove themselves. What about you, babe?"

Anita blushes prettily at the pet name while I scowl. "I'm good with my hands," she says before flushing deeper. "I mean – not like that. Fixing things. I'm – I wanted to be an engineer. Before."

It's the first I'm hearing of my sister's aspirations, and I try to ignore how much that hurts. Cato smiles, amused, and says there's an opening in maintenance. "Maybe," he adds, "you can figure out why the backup generator keeps shitting the bed. Lord knows those wrench-monkeys could use the help."

Not liking the way Cato's looking at my sister, I butt in. "What about me?"

"What did you do before the breakout?"

"I doubt strippers are in high demand."

Anita grimaces and Cato suggests I become one of Negan's wives, as he'd enjoy the 'job experience'.

"Fuck no," I spit. "Just - put me where I'm needed."

"Kitchens could use another hand."

"Kitchens it is."

Our room is on the third floor of the Sanctuary, Cato explains, along with all the other women and children. Above us is Negan and his wives, and below are the men. First floor has the rec room, infirmary, and dining area. There are two bathrooms per floor and three shower stalls each. Someone will deliver a fresh change of clothes and the allotted toiletries within the hour, and we're welcome to lounge around for the rest of the day. We're expected to report to our job assignments at dawn tomorrow.

"Welcome home ladies," Cato says as we come to a stop. "Got any questions, take it up with anyone but me. Any concerns and you take them up with the big man himself." I assume he means Negan and not God, but for these people I'm sure it's hard to distinguish the two.

Our room is small and sparse, with a bed and cot tucked in each corner separated by a low card table and throw-rug. I sprawl across the cot with a sigh, bouncing slightly on the blanketed mesh. For the first time in years my stomach is full and I have a safe place to rest my head.

"Eva?" Anita whispers, sitting in her bed.

I hum and curl my knees to my chin; getting comfortable. "Mmm?"

"Do you think we'll be happy here?"

"I hope so, sis. I hope so."

But hope is a dangerous thing in this world, and I won't let it cloud my judgement. Trusting these people may be tempting, but I'm no fool. Negan didn't 'save' me out of the goodness of his heart. He's a power-hungry man with an ego the size of Texas, who saw two young women and _potential_. After all, one can only be worshiped if there are _worshipers_. Negan wants to look out into the world and see people on their knees. But that's fine - really, it is. I can bow if it keeps my sister safe. I'll kneel before Negan and thank him for the opportunity to do so. Because this is the end of the times, and there's no room for pride when faced with the apocalypse.

* * *

Citations:

 _*didi_ : noun. Indian. 1. An older sister or older female cousin (often as a proper name or form of address)

*Chapter title taken from _Bad Things_ by Machine Gun Kelly and Camila Cabello


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